A look that would have soured the mayonnaise
by Chiara Cadrich
Summary: Bilbo's eleventy first birthday party, as seen by Mistress Lobelia...
1. Invitation

.oOo.

 _Tolkiendil Challenge : « You novel will,_ _by putting yourself in the shoes of one of the protagonists, tell Bilbo's 111th anniversary story. »_

.oOo.

The clock counted the seconds.

Lobelia counted her money.

The patinated furniture stood like the king's statue, opposite to the fireplace, filling the living room with its age-old rhythm. The minutes themselves seemed more worthier, etched by this brass clock, recently gilded anew.

Lobelia, bowed in front of her waxed side table, pursued endlessly the meticulous stacking of her nest egg on Aunt Skimpress' placemat.

The maid had finished clearing the meal and had taken refuge in the kitchen, fleeing the sour mood of greed and the eternally suspicious pouting of her masters.

Otho reasoned, with a scathing and conquering tone:

\- With the outlets I just found for the Sackville cheese workshop, we shall soon be able to enlarge! I have already been able to buy the Longbottom dairies under the name of Descarts. Bilbo, what an old fool, could not see through it!

\- Thanks to the lands from Aunt Parcimonia, we are in a good position to dictate our prices to the Tucks! Said delighted Lobelia with a wicked smile, while going on with her pencil and coins.

\- Not to mention that the demand from the South keeps on increasing, continued her husband. As soon as next season, we should buy the arpents of Old Winyards to the mad poet! He does not know its value! When I think my own father sold these vines to Uncle Bungo! What a pity!

\- I heard he's preparing a grand reception! Here again he throws our money to the winds!

\- Ugh! A fair for the indigent flocks of Hobbiton! Fortunately we're not invited!

Once she had finished her own snack - her master's leftover cabbage soup and bacon-tatters, along with half-rotten pears - the young maid scratched timidly at the door.

Lobelia hated to be interrupted in her calculations:

\- What is it you want? No dish to wash or sock to darn? So you think you're paid to mess around?

\- Excuse me, Mistress! But the mail clerk just gave this letter for you.

A little trembling, the girl came forth, holding in both hands a large envelope that embalmed the violet. Her reading was uncertain, but the golden ink calligraphy had produced a great impression on the young hobbit:

 _From Bilbo Baggins,_

 _For the benefit of his dearest and most esteemed Sackville-Baggins_

 _Reception at the Venerable Invitees Privilege pavilion._

.oOo.


	2. Coach

.oOo.

The miller, engorged in a livery too small for him, belabored the onlookers who encumbered bagshot row and hindered his carriage's way. Otho, sitting on the bench covered with crimson velvet, took up bored poses in his mint gray frock coat with gold buttons. His wife at his side, hiding her outrageous makeup behind a trendy fan, shone with bright taffeta and iridescent silks. But it was the shrew's cape that held all the attention: one would have said the hairy reply, of these solitary mountains erected at the end of the known world, the legends of which Bilbo had revived.

A crowd had gathered in front of the large gate, just opened at the bottom of the party field. The hobbits parted in amazement at the cart, pompously bedecked with frilly garlands. Some jeers fluttered, but Lobelia strutted and ordered the lackey to "operate the footstool." The said lackey - the miller's son, dressed just like his father - arranged a cushion on a box of carrots, and the worthy couple was able to get off its "coach" to enter Bag-End.

Rumors had circulated that Father Sandyman had sold his mill, but so far it was unclear who might be the buyer. Henceforth no more doubt was allowed. But for the moment this news was left aside - with the speculations that would ensue – so ridiculous were the attempts of the Sackville-Baggins to "put on airs".

Bilbo, as usual, was charming and polite in welcoming them to the gate, although Lobelia had little taste for his compliment about her "majestic meringue".

.oOo.


	3. Misalliance

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When the Sackville-Baggins entered the pavilion of the "Veteran Idiot Partakers" - as the irreverent youth called it, deprived of the refined dishes that would be served there - old Rory Brandybuck leaned towards almost as old Ferumbras Tuck:

\- Here is ambition at the arm of greed!

The Tuck gauged family situations with a touch of imagination:

-Bilbo should have married Lobelia! He would certainly not have indulged in his absurd adventures, and his riches seized in a doubtful way would have been acquired by an honorable marriage! In return, her dragon instinct of treasure's warden, would have benefited from the affable kindness of the naïve poet!

\- Mad Baggins and Dragon Lobelia, both muzzled by a wedding ring! Who could believe such a fable? I have the feeling no ring may ever overcome the troubles of these two! 1

As if Lobelia, on the other end of the table, had suspected the old stooges were talking about her misalliance, she glanced at them with a look that would have soured the mayonnaise.

To keep his poise, Rory poured a glass of Old Wineyard for himself, courteously raised the glass in the direction of Lobelia and went on:

\- I wonder where Otho pulls all his money and ideas from! So far he had achieved nothing remarkable... The notary Grubb the young may not tell me officially, but I know Otho is buying Bilbo's properties - an anonymous offer was recently registered for the vineyards of his father Bungo and even the "Golden Nectar" of his grandfather Mungo. And none of these seems to worry cracked Bilbo!

\- Oh, it's not just that! I know Lobelia has bought and enlarged the dairy that belonged to Bilbo's mother, my aunt Belladona! They are now producing long-cellaring cheeses, and much larger. Nice golden wheels, which must be salted and refined much longer! I also guess this is why Otho bought the old quarries near Sarn Ford, in order to store them there. And then hey, presto! - the cheeses are shipped the King knows where, and we see no more than a few on the South Farthing's markets!

.oOo.

1 The reader may note the Tuck's awesome lucidity!


	4. Offspring

.oOo.

Lotho could not escape a detailed review of his party clothes. New trousers, shirt with puffed sleeves, starched collar, chamarred vest, elegant tweed jacket... The full-length mirror reflected the image of a boy, whose spotty face only he recognized. His outfit scraped him horribly, and - the King only knows why - recently his mother had found scratching vulgar. But he had stubbornly refused to ride in the coach with his parents. His father had granted him leave for the day, in return for which he had been entrusted with a special mission by his unyielding mother.

Throughout the day, he had been entertaining and chatting from table to table, most often in the company of his friend Ted, the miller's son, who wore rather coquettish clothes, with woolen stockings and barrister tabs! The pair had then established its headquarters at the bar of the large outdoor kitchen, located at the top of the field.

In the middle of the afternoon, the big ton of beer began to show signs of drought. Otho had the wits to propose helping the dwarves to seek, install and broach its "little sister". Thus, their comings and goings to the reserves went unnoticed.

Now they were in the place – Bag End's main cellar. Lotho pulled a long hazel stick from his sleeve. While Ted was keeping watch, for a long time, Lobelia's son scanned the ground with his dowsing instrument, and probed the walls in search of Bilbo's treasure. Several times they nearly got caught, and had to interrupt the search to lend a hand, carry buckets of ice or supply a refreshment bar.

But the efforts of the thieves were crowned with success - hidden in a cache under the cooler's boards, Lotho discovered a real treasure! The accomplices immediately strove to unearth the loot, which cast amber reflections on the cellar's walls.

Unfortunately for them, the thieves could not resist the pernicious attraction of their booty: they tasted it! The sweet and golden drink flowed down their throats as a wonderful panacea, evoking the autumn evenings and a dry nutty flavor. They could not even open a second bottle: the day after the party, they were found snoring in each other's arms!

.oOo.


	5. Supper

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Lobelia and Otho, like all the guests of the honor tent, had gone out to watch the fireworks. The old vagrant, well known in Hobbiton - the very one who had stupidly dragged Bilbo into his adventures, and who had even more stupidly brought him back again - was shooting the rockets.

Between the ohs! and the ahs! shouted with admiration by the crowd, Lobelia railed against these flashy and expensive demonstrations that celebrated the adventurous irresponsibility in such a perverse way.

After a great deal of flashes and glittering gleams, _" The lights went out. A great smoke went up. It shaped itself like a mountain seen in the distance, and began to glow at the summit. "_

\- "Lobelia's head smoking with gold!" said a young Bolger.

Indeed the improbable headgear of Mistress Sackville-Baggins looked a bit like Erebor. The victim of the sarcasm turned to the culprit, raising a threatening finger. The mocking smile of the rascal vanished. Lobelia was about to eat him alive, but at that moment the mountain - the one of fireworks - _spouted green and scarlet flames. Out flew a red-golden dragon – not life-size, but terribly life-like: fire came from his jaws, his eyes glared down; there was a roar, and he whizzed three times over the heads of the crowd. They all ducked, and many fell flat on their faces. The dragon passed like an express train, turned a somersault, and burst over Bywater with a deafening explosion._

Fredegar Bolger, imploring forgiveness for his outrage, decamped swiftly, leaving Lobelia the Dragonness ranting.

" _That is the signal for supper!' said Bilbo. The pain and alarm vanished at once, and the prostrate hobbits leaped to their feet."_ The Sackville-Baggins sat down at the end of the table, quite uncomfortable under the distant, if not disapproving, glances of their peers. They had never been very popular... But patience...

The tables dotted with candles radiated around the illuminated tree, encompassed by the huge capital "Venerable Invitees Privilege", also stitched with colored stars. Lobelia glanced eagerly at the silver cutlery, lined up like companies of little armored knights on the embroidered tablecloth. Most of the hobbits present shared a rather down-to-earth nature, for them this wealth and fantasy seemed a little odd. To tell the truth, this whole staging would have made people laugh, if the fumaroles rising from the dishes had not promised culinary wonders.

And these promises were kept, and far beyond, since Bilbo's art had matured with age.

Then came the time for the speech. The inevitable pensum was likely to stretch, accumulating grotesque stories and lenitive poetry from the Bilbo vintage. Yet the guests, benevolent as well-fed hobbits, encouraged a little their host, who climbed onto a chair under the lanterns of the big tree.

At first, the old fool seemed to do splendidly well, shamelessly flattering the hobbit enthusiasm for happy family reunions. But Lobelia immediately detected that something was wrong: the speaker's smile was too mischievous, his compliments too embellished - he was preparing some trick. Besides, he was nervously twiddling something in his pocket, while his gaze wandered into the gloom beyond the hills.

The appeal of the open spaces, this congenital evil on his Tuck-side, was clearly gaining control. And young Frodo too, seemed very strange, listening to the old fool with a distracted air, as if both were already absent...

Lorsque Bilbon réclama le silence en cornant par trois fois, et qu'il lança « Je vous ai tous rassemblés pour une certaine raison » avec un air étrange, elle sut que le versant Touque de sa personnalité – son côté timbré - allait prendre le dessus d'un moment à l'autre. Secouant Othon qui cuvait son repas, Lobelia fut prise d'un espoir insensé.

When Bilbo claimed for silence by blowing three loud hoots, and he called out _"I have called you all together for a Purpose"_ with a strange tone, she knew that the Tuck side of his personality - his loony side - was soon going to take over. Shaking Otho who was getting sleepy, Lobelia was seized with a foolish hope.

Her blood nearly boiled when Bilbo tried to recall that Frodo, the foreigner, _"came of age and into his inheritance today.":_ Would the uncontrollable Tuck inheritance sweep again, taking pell-mell the uncle's reason and the nephew's prudence?

Bilbo continued, his eyes distant and his hand still nervous in his pocket:

 _\- Thirdly and finally, he said, I wish to make an ANNOUNCEMENT. (…) I regret to announce that – though, as I said, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to spend among you – this is the END. I am going. I am leaving NOW. GOOD-BYE!_

Bilbo came down from his chair and quite suddenly, he disappeared!

There was a blinding flash, which made the whole audience blink. Lobelia kept her eyes closed, praying that...

She reopened them - well no, Frodo had not disappeared: the impostor still sat in his chair, prostrated, his gaze in the void, insensitive to the outcry that swelled under the pavilion.

.oOo.


	6. Wheelbarrow

.oOo.

Sam was sweating heavily on the road to Longbottom. Each step cost him, as he braced on his heavily loaded wheelbarrow. The cows of Southfarthing watched him pass while chewing their rich grass under a pitiless sun.

His load, as for him, was doing very well: his look a little turbid and his ideas a bit tangled, Lotho enjoyed the stroll while revelling young Sam's efforts:

\- It's nice to take me home. I'm sure you would not have had the idea alone, right?

\- The Elder said "Get Bag-End rid of this sweep! "

\- Oh well you'll have to get used to it, soon my father will be head of Bag-End!

\- You are rambling lies without knowing! Sam hissed between his teeth

\- Hmm, you still defend the stranger, this Frodo! A Brandybuck! But my mother will break that inheritance! That's not natural for sure, this disappearance schemed by a wizard! Who knows where they stole the old fool's body?

It was too much for Sam.

Lotho was propelled unceremoniously into the cow's trough.

\- Take advantage of it to wash yourself, Pimple!

.oOo.


End file.
